Dirt
by TaiKaze
Summary: Sequel to Jack in the box. This was going to be the worst eavining of Lestrade's life.


[A/N: Sequel to Jack in the box.]

He hates it, he really does.

Some police officers dream of this life, to be promoted until all that's left of your job is to sit behind a desk all day, playing God and waltzing around marble statues at high class parties all night.

Not Greg Lestrade. No he wants nothing more then to get out of there. Well, technically, he has yet to walk in.

He stands in front of the enormous entrance to the hotel, watching men in tuxedos and women in silk dresses float from their cars and over the red carpet into the chandelier-lit halls. He doesn't want to go inside, but it's part of his duties and he knows one person who would be very disappointed if he didn't go.

That person isn't here tonight, but it doesn't matter. That person knows everything.

Lestrade sighs, wishes for a cigarette and starts to walk towards the entrance. He wishes he had brought a date, the invitation was plus one, but he couldn't think of anybody. Well, he could think of one, but that would be impossible. He sighs again.

Suddenly, someone's beside him, grabbing his arm and tugging him along.

"Hello detective inspector! Fancy meting you here!"

"Miss Haart?"

The short woman smiles up at him, cheeks red and breath harsh, like she's been running. She is neatly dressed, stockings and a long tight shirt/dress thing that seems to be so modern nowadays.

"Just for tonight I'm agent Haart again. Apparently I'm the only reliable woman in the entire secrete service."

" I figured this wasn't a social visit…"

"No, and I would be so grateful is I could pretend to be your date for just a little while. Maybe they'll give up…"

"Who?"

"Don't look around, just smile and nod. Where is your real date, I'd prefer not to get smacked tonight…"

"I didn't bring one."

"Really?"

"Yes, so we can pretend for as long as you need, miss Haart."

"Linda, please. It would help, it really would."

"Well, you have just made my evening much more interesting, it's the least I can do."

They smile and enter, Linda straightening out her dress and hair in front of one of the huge mirrors before they go through the marvelous wooden doors and in to the ballroom.

"Wow… Is this where our tax-money go?"

"I think so… Would you like a drink?"

"Oh God yes!"

Lestrade smiles wider now that he has an ally on his arm. Linda is apparently just as uncomfortable as he is. They walk over to the bar, sitting down at the darkest end. Lestrade gets a scotch and Linda has a screwdriver. He looks around the room, wishing he was a Holmes and could tell who he is protecting this woman from.

"So, how did you end up here then, Miss… I mean Linda?"

"Oh, routine mission gone slightly wrong. Was pulling out when they caught me. Managed to get away by latching on to you. I just hope they will think I was running because I didn't want to keep my "date" waiting…"

"Well, I guess we'll just have to enjoy ourself until it's safe for you to leave then."

"I guess so!"

They clink their glasses together and snicker. It feels good to be there now that he has an actual purpose.

"So, how are they doing?"

He doesn't need to ask who she means.

"They are driving me mad, really. As soon as I turn around they are all over each other. I'm not surprised about Sherlock, he's a prick, but you'd think Watson would be a bit more discrete…!"

She laughs. Not that seductive giggle that women pull but a rough full-faced laugh.

"Yeah I figured! Oh, poor you who has to put up with them! I'm sorry, but they were so head over heels that I couldn't leave them alone!"

He smiles back. He actually doesn't mind, not so much, but there is a time and a place for everything and Sherlock just doesn't get it.

"You have known him since school, right?"

"Well, there where a couple of years that we didn't talk, and I have to admit he's changed since then, but yeah. His brother employed me as soon as I got out of Uni myself, so I heard a lot about him."

"Mycroft did?"

The name is out of his mouth before he can stop it. He tries not to look guilty, sips his drink, having a strong feeling he might just have gone trough the ice.

She raises an eyebrow, first looking surprised, then smiling deviously.

"Did he kidnap you?"

"What?"

"Did he? He usually does whenever Sherlock makes a new acquaintance."

"Really?"

"Yeah! He has some of his minions pick you up, then he takes you to some remote or abandoned place and then he questions the living crap out of you! Then, he offers money to tell him what Sherlock is up to, then he sends you on your merry way! He didn't do that to you?"

He shakes his head, trying to ignore the feeling that it seems a very Mycroft-thing to do.

"Strange… He usually does to whoever Sherlock meets…"

"Well, I met Mycroft before I met Sherlock."

"Really? How?"

He smiles, he can't help it. It was so weird back then, truly un-nerving, but now it's a fond memory. He wonders if the Holmes do this to all the people they meet.

"I was promoted detective inspector five years ago. My predecessor suddenly got an early retirement and I was recommended. So… I stand there one night, about a week afterwards, looking at the mess on my desk, wondering why I ever took the job, when suddenly a man appears in the room."

"Oh, I didn't know it was ghost-story!"

They snicker at the joke, they both know those two brothers are the closest things to supernatural creatures they'll ever see.

"I swear, I didn't even hear the door!"

"I hate it when he does that!"

"I'll say!"

He takes another sip, relaxing in the bar stool. He tugs down his necktie an inch, letting some air into his throat again. Damn he hates parties.

"Well, anyway. First, he introduces himself, waves off his "minor position in the government". Then he asks me to sit down…"

"And you do…"

"Without thinking! It's scary how he does that…!"

"It's just something with his tone of voice!"

"Mh, and he sits down from across. Then he does that thing, he folds his hands and crosses his legs and looks at me like he can see right through my soul. Damn I was so confused…"

She smiles at him. It's nice to see, nice to know he's not the only one who has been in that spotlight.

"Then, he tells me about his brother, his little brother that apparently is a "consulting detective", like I should know what that is. He tells me that this brother of his is a genius, can solve anything, so I ask why he's not with the police…"

A shiver runs down his back as he remembers the look the other man gave him. That smile, like a cat in front of a limp mouse. No chance to escape, no way out.

"And he tells me his brother will never limit himself like that. I had no idea what he meant then but I would learn."

He drinks again, almost forgetting his audience.

"Then, he asks me to take care of him."

Linda looks at him, then her face cracks up in a huge grin and she squeals.

"Awww! That is so sweet!"

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, smiling himself at the obvious fangirling.

"Well, I ask him if his brother can't take care of himself, he must be a grown man, and he just smiles like he almost regrets putting me through all this. Damn, he could have warned me."

"He never does…"

"So, I met Sherlock, understands exactly why Mycroft came and talked with me 'cause if he hadn't it would have ended really ugly…!"

"That bad?"

"Have you met Sergeant Donovan?"

"Black chick from the hotel-murder-thingy? Right… I get it."

"And after that, Mycroft just calls once in a while to see how he's doing, what he's working on and so forth…"

He doesn't add that not all calls are about Sherlock anymore. Those calls are short, not really something he tells anyone about.

"Ah, I see."

She sips her drink, empties it, and Lestrade knows that there is no way Sherlock would date an idiot. This girl is sharp. She knows.

"Wanna dance?"

"What?"

"Do you want to dance, detective inspector?"

"Greg, please, I'm off duty. And no, I don't dance."

His own drink is just ice in a glass, so he puts it down. She gets off her chair and grabs his arm.

"Everybody dances. Come now! We can might as well have fun!"

"I'm sorry, I don't do dances… Two left feet and all that."

"Bullocks! Come on!"

He shakes his head, trying not to look as cornered as he feels. She rolls her eyes and snickers.

"I could get Sherlock to dance, you really think you'll get away?"

He sighs, cursing all parties in the world, and joins her out on the packed floor.

It's awkward at first, trying to move around without bumping into someone. Linda is not making it better, laughing like a maniac the entire time. She laughs for so long he joins in. People keep staring at them, way to happy and loud for this place, but right now Lestrade doesn't care. This is the second best this evening could have gotten. He misses, even if Linda doesn't, when the men in dark clothes with bulks under their armpits leave the room. He misses the other figure that appears in the crowd, the one in crisp suit who only glances at them before he leaves again.

He misses when Saturday turns to Sunday and the other guests start to leave. He realises the time only when Linda tells him she has a room and they should go raid the mini-bar.

"Go nuts, it's on the job! Meaning Mycroft's paying…!"

"Alright…!"

He sits down, pours himself another scotch and sighs.

"I'll just go take a shower, make yourself at home."

He suddenly realises he's in a hotelroom with a young woman he's just spent the last few hours dancing with. He wonders how much she knows about him, and he stands up again.

"Linda… I just have to... Please understand…!"

"I'm married."

He stares at her little grin. She waits for him to get all the pieces off his brain in place, he has had a lot to drink.

"Ah…!"

"Besides, I know who you would have chosen to go with. I'm not an idiot."

He blushes, pure red. He opens his mouth and realises she's known the entire time and that this has only been two friends helping each other out of what could have been a horrible night. He smiles, relaxes and sits back down.

He sits there, in the dim lit room, sipping his drink, thinking about Mycroft Holmes.

Because really, honestly, truth to God, yes; he's the one Lestrade would have asked. If Mycroft hadn't been occupying a minor position in the government. If Lestarde's job wasn't so public. If society hadn't been so prejudiced and cruel. If only.

He misses him so bad. Five years ago, if someone had told him he would fall head over heels for that man, he would have laughed. He wouldn't even have gotten mad, it would have just been to ridiculous. That was five years ago.

Now, now he can't imagine anyone else. Can't comprehend that he's still functioning even though he hasn't held him for over a week. He thinks about Sherlock and John and how damn lucky they are, because they don't care and they don't have to. It's not like he wants them to be unhappy, he just sorta wants the same thing.

He thinks of the last time they where face to face and Mycroft stroked his cheek just before leaving, apologizing for Lestrade can't even remember what. It didn't matter, he forgave him. He always did. All the times Mycroft has called, going to be late, China is on a war-path, can't come, nuclear dissaster in Japan, sorry, classified documents have been stolen, must fix.

World domination, Mycroft has achieved it. Lestrade would rather have him occupying that minor position.

"Greg, I'm popping down to the lobby, just picking something up. You'll be fine right?"

He glances over his shoulder at the newly cleaned woman, nodding.

"Yeah, I'll be alright."

She smirks as he turns back and quietly picks up her small bag and disappears out the door.

Mycroft stares at his phone, the private one that only a select number of people have access to. There is an un-nerving text.

Come immediately. It's important!  
>LH<p>

He frowns and tells the driver to turn back.

Just as he starts to wonder, the door opens. Lestrade leans his head back against the couch and asks into the dark room.

"There you are. What took you?"

"Japan and Greece had a little spat. It took a while."

He flies of the couch, not caring about the amber stain developing as his class lands on the carpet. He stares at the man who is just placing his umbrella against the wall, leaving his coat on a chair. Then he decides that he doesn't care why or how. He doesn't care about ifs and buts. He runs around the pice of furniture blocking his path, lunges himself at the taller man.

They stand there for a long time, breathing, just feeling as close as they can. Then Mycroft mumbles.

"She was right, it was important…"

And Lestrade understands, and he thanks her. How Sherlock ever let her go is beyond him. Then he feels lips against his neck and all thoughts about other people disappear.

He wakes to the sensation of someone playing with his hair. He almost laughs because that's not a very Mycroft-thing to do, but he finds that he rather likes it.

"How are you?"

He looks at his lover, the man he would marry if he only could.

"Much better. I missed you."

He knows Mycroft gets annoyed when he says things like that. It means he has to answer and he never knows what to say. He and Sherlock are such beginners when it comes to love. He says it anyway, Mycroft needs the practise.

"Me too."

He pulls Lestrade in, hides him under his chin. The inspector smiles wider, knowing the other man is not blushing but this is close enough. It makes him feel loved. More loved then he has ever felt before.

Suddenly, it has been worth the long wait to see him again. It's worth everything, for those few early mornings when he can embarrass his love as mush as he wants.

Cuddling closer, feeling a hand run trough his hair again, Lestrade feels as happy as humanly possible.

Definitely worth it.


End file.
